For many years now, frogs have been the creatures who act as my signal, providing me with a glimpse of the near future. I think of them as symbolic of transformation.
During the warm summer months, Cuban tree frogs hop onto our windows, drawn by the insects that are attracted to the lights in our offices. They are the largest tree frog in North America and are fascinating to watch. The top photo is of a frog paying homage to a pasted frog on the inside glass of Rob’s office window.
Considering the number of frogs in our yard, these guys rarely get inside the house. But when they do, it’s usually significant in some way, even if that significance isn’t immediately apparent. It often means that an event is on its way into our lives. If the frog is healthy and vital, then the event is likely to be transformative in a positive way. If the frog is ailing or dead, then the event is likely to impact us negatively.
Some years ago, Rob, Megan and I got home from somewhere and found a dead frog in the middle of our family room. Megan glanced at both of us. “Uh-oh,” she said. “Dead frog in family room. “
And I thought: Yeah, someone in the family is going to die.
Some hours later Rob’s mother called to tell him his dad was in hospice. Rob flew to Minneapolis. His dad passed away three days after we’d found the dead frog.
On another note, in February of 2003, I found a live frog in my office, caught and released it. I knew good news was headed my way. Two days later, I received a call from a fellow writer, Glenn Meganck, who told me my novel, Out of Sight, had been nominated for an Edgar Alan Poe Award for best paperback original, by the Mystery Writers of America. I spent the next 3 months visualizing myself winning the award.
In early May, I was in New York at the awards dinner and I won. I already knew my acceptance speech by heart.
It’s been like this for decades. The frog, alive or dead or somewhere in between. In the house or outside. The state of the frog and where it’s found are intrinsic to what’s coming up.
So on February 5 or 6, I was moving some stuff around in the family room, trying to make room for Rob so he could keep his leg elevated. He’d had knee replacement surgery. I pick up the plate with the frog on it and it cracked. It split in half, right through the middle of the frog horizontally.
For moments, I just stared at it, all sort of terrible things dancing around inside me. Bad luck, bad luck, plate with frog on it broke in half. BUT. It wasn’t a real frog, just an image, surely it didn’t mean anything, right? A couple days later I bought some super glue and fitted it back together.I foolishly believed that since I’d fixed the late, the predicted event had been fixed too.
The next day, I had to take Nika, our dog and Megan’s, to the emergency vet. I learned that she had a massive tumor and was bleeding out.
I ultimately had her euthanized. And my heart broke, just like that crack down the center of the frog plate.
